Seeing him, therefore, still covered with dust from the
march, the young man thought him gained over to the Republican cause,
and was much delighted thereat. He talked to the doctor, with youthful
magniloquence, of the people's rights, their holy cause, and their
certain triumph. Pascal smiled as he listened, and watched the youth's
gestures and the ardent play of his features with curiosity, as though
he were studying a patient, or analysing an enthusiasm, to ascertain
what might be at the bottom of it.
"How you run on! How you run on!" he finally exclaimed. "Ah! you are
your grandmother's true grandson." And, in a whisper, he added, like
some chemist taking notes: "Hysteria or enthusiasm, shameful madness
or sublime madness. It's always those terrible nerves!" Then, again
speaking aloud, as if summing up the matter, he said: "The family is
complete now. It will count a hero among its members."
Silvere did not hear him. He was still talking of his dear Republic.
Miette had dropped a few paces off; she was still wrapped in her large
red pelisse. She and Silvere had traversed the town arm-in-arm.
The sight of this tall red girl at last puzzled Pascal, and again
interrupting his cousin, he asked him: "Who is this child with you?"
"She is my wife," Silvere gravely answered.
The doctor opened his eyes wide, for he did not understand. He was very
shy with women; however, he raised his hat to Miette as he went away.
The night proved an anxious one.
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